


You Better Get Ready to Kill

by Flynn_Voltage_Taggart



Series: Gordon Freeman Malevolent Moments [2]
Category: Half-Life
Genre: Canon Typical Violence, I will remind you again this is a M rated game, It's another amoral Gordon work, and by canon typical violence I mean a lot of dead bodies and a lot of crowbar bludgeoning, guards are mentioned using they/them pronouns, pretty canon compliant aside from slight room reorganization for pacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-18 09:33:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29116053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flynn_Voltage_Taggart/pseuds/Flynn_Voltage_Taggart
Summary: Doctor Gordon Freeman has a very set objective post rescas, and he does not have the science team spirit.
Series: Gordon Freeman Malevolent Moments [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2136168
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5





	You Better Get Ready to Kill

**Author's Note:**

> This can be read as a continuation of the previous work in the series, but I did my best to make it stand alone. Plus, it has a slightly different tone due to more canon compliant plot.
> 
> Also, this really just a fanwork for an animatic of Ready to Die by Andrew W.K. (https://open.spotify.com/track/74yxx7JQEElkvjkJCwvt2M?si=bNX7AmMlS2GiWXlVaZQOsg) that exists solely in my head.

Doctor Freeman was panting, breaths coming in shallow raspy draws as he scrambled to keep a hold of his vision as the light from the spectrometer flickered. 

Something had went horribly wrong with the test of his theory. 

The world was out of sorts.

The worst had come to past, and it went beyond the resonance cascade that he had set into motion pushing that crystal sample into an unstable and untested machine.

Something had fundamentally changed in that chamber, something far beyond his mortal grasp played out under dancing shades of toxic green.

The suit was trying to regulate his temperature, but reaching up a hand to his face showed how clammy his skin was. It was naturally cold this deep under the ground where sunlight couldn't dream to touch, but something was different now. Something was throwing off heat

The afterimages of worlds with abysmal skies filled with swirling oceanic colors and creatures with unfathomable eyes and horrid gangly limbs filtered through his mind as he removed his glasses and pressed the heel of his palm against his eye sockets to alleviate a mounting tension headache.

Focus, Doctor Freeman.

If he could still think on his feet, he could fix all the consequences caused by those who had no clue how to properly boss around a machine that could potentially turn the whole surrounding desert into a crater.

If it was the spectrometer filling the chilly chamber with feverish heat, that would mean the Xen crystal sample was completely spent.

Even if it was just his own body revolting against him and his quest to make it out of here alive and in a better position than he had left, there might be witnesses, cowards from the highest observational turrets looking for a chance at heroism or at the very least a good scapegoat when a government official came in to tidy up the mess.

...A government man...

A G-man....

A G-Man like that odd figure that did not seem of this Earth that lurked around the fringes of places like this scouting out particularly notable talent and taking them off without a trace. Well, the details were fuzzy and speculative at best, but he could not discount things he had seen. He was a scientist, an empiricist by nature. The proof was there.

Could those visions have been an extension of the local G-Man's void? Was it a sign that he was watching? Had he finally gotten his attention enough to deserve special supervision?

It didn't matter. 

It couldn't matter right now. G-Man was merely a perk to his line of work. There were more pressing matters regarding his research right now, matters such as the survival of his work's sole proprietor.

A power door used as a pseudo-observational deck had its door wide open. It was the most clear first step towards getting out of here which was the contingency to get back on track to having access to the resources for his true passion project.

Curse his horrid luck for backing him into yet another corner. 

Curse his imperfect mind for even suggesting luck in a scenario where survival completely hinged on physical and mental competence and adaptation.

Fate, chance, or skill aside, there was one choice. He would have to move forward, one heavy, metallic footfall at a time.

His boots, although quiet thick, wasn't immune to registering changes towards the material underfoot. There was something denser than water left haphazardly on the metal grate that divided the chamber from these frivolous external structures.

Upon further inspection, the viscous substance seemed to be blood.

More specifically, it seemed to be blood seeping from a body of one of the younger scientist who had been stupid enough to want to even attempt to properly report on the magnitude of his work.

He didn't feel much of anything.

If it had been just one body on the floor, that was a tragic workplace accident. But two bodies? That was just part of the staggering body count that was going to b from this place. It was best not to get too attached to these kind of people. It was only going to get in his way.

It wasn't that he lacked sympathy for his fellow coworkers. In fact, he though it was quite the opposite. People who got in his way were simply enemies to the end goals of the greatest possible scientific progress for humanity under his wise control. His callousness was simple utilitarianism.

Past the pool of cooling blood on the tread plate was a door weakly trying to slide back closed that seemed stunted by both an electrical failing and the mangled arm of one of the test observers.

Great, he was going to have to move this dolt's corpse out of his way.

This was why he hadn't become a medical doctor. All of the aptitude and linguistics skills in the world could not convince him to handle all this pulsing and spewing organ business with a level of compassionate professionalism on par with a good physician. Fortunately, his "patient" was already post-op from a minor amputation and also deceased and unable to criticize Gordon's terrible bedside manner while being heaved into position in a pleasant pile with their equally dead coworker.

With the unpleasant doorstop out of the way, the door sputtered a few centimeters away from closed. At least something could manage to come close to job performance standards down here.

The problem now was the door was stuck shut, barely flickering a few centimeters open when it detected Doctor Freeman's movement. 

It was fine. If the wreckage behind was indication, he had dealt with technology far more finicky than a cheap sliding door.

He started with the most primal of human instincts, a tried and true act of troubleshooting. He swiftly kicked the door with the toe of his boot.

It did not yield.

That was also fine. He was a man who firmly believed in more advanced approaches than such simple minded correlations between violence and results. He waved both of his arms in front of the red indicator light of the motion detector.

It did not yield.

He gave the side of the door a firm tug back with a clasped hand. 

It flew forward an inch giving him enough time to briefly consider the downsides of operating a scientific empire without his left hand before reluctantly sliding back into the wall to allow him passage into the next chamber. 

A guard with deep brown eyes glazed over and chest ever so shallowly rising in labored breaths lay sprawled on the tile with a scientist Doctor Freeman barely recognized from some interdisciplinary mixer feebly attempting to resuscitate him looming above. He sidestepped the pair, barely resisting the urge to nudge the soon-to-be corpse out of his way with his boots.

Down the corridor offered a small tunneling elevator. He could not say he was a big personal fan of the mechanism. It seemed impractical that the only way out of a facility would be reliant on good electrical maintenance. He supposed that was a fault of those trams too. Maybe cutting the power would have been a much exercise in inciting control here rather than weapon's training. If this company had a future, that would be good to keep in mind.

The doors hissed open to reveal a control room still in relatively pristine shape, or the closest thing to pristine shape the outdated 70s space technology dream style decor could look like. Huddled in the corner of the room were two scientist, one monitoring the door with all the diligence of a naked mole rat and another curled up onto the floor to nurse some unseen injury.

The uninjured scientist, one who seemed a bit younger if only because he had enough chestnut hair left to get deep gray streaks in, was the one to start babbling at him, "Thank goodness for that Hazard Suit, Doctor Freeman. Doctor Pelham is injured. I'm terribly afraid to move him, and all the phone lines are down. You have to go the surface and ask for help as soon as possible."

The only hint of recognition he gave to the plea was a suspicious squint through his slightly off kilter glasses. Truthfully, he was basking in the fact his experiment had likely left at least half of the facility at his mercy upon escaping. He did not mind playing god in the slightest. 

"You'll need me for the retinal scanners," the uninjured scientist offered.

What an oddly specific appeal to his usefulness. 

A retinal scanner wouldn't be that hard to fudge seeing as no matter how modern and cutting edge Black Mesa claimed to be, there just wasn't the available technology for any sort of accuracy. He believed in suspending his disbelief when it came to some of the security theatrics around here, but he was not going to make himself out to be a complete fool. The point was that he could easily tamper with it, or better yet, he could simply rip the miserable device from the wall and jimmy the door open somehow. 

Except for the fact that he had nothing to jimmy a door open with.... yet.

He didn't have a weapon at all yet, and he would not be able to really get his hands on what he wanted based on the less lethal supply kept around the test chamber. He supposed he could have relieved that guard out in the hall of his. That would have made for quite a sight. To see any of these miserable excuses for scientist with their eyes as wide as saucers begging the man they had never given a second thought to not repaint Black Mesa's hideous interior with their blood. It was a thought, a tempting one at that....

No, there was no need to pick off the people down here. The aftershocks of his experiment would pick them off if those two moronic note takers right outside of the test chamber were any indication.

Even if they survived the cave-ins and electrical malfunctions, they would asphyxiate down here, likely wasting their last breaths praying for his last minute arrival, praying to an uncaring god. 

He nodded to the uninjured scientist and walked forwards, the most effort he was willing to put into pretending to be a helpful fellow employee.

It worked well enough. The scientist quickly trailed after him and gave authorization to a much smoother automatic door.

This was more like it. This authority, this thoughtless clearance....maybe his plan was not in need of a complete overall.

Stepping into the new room, it was not much of a surprise. He supposed all the innovation allowed at Black Mesa was strictly for personnel. A man likely skewered by shrapnel rested in an oozing puddle of blood at the control room's side. The crackle of a stray proboscis beam illuminated the panels of computers lining the walls before making them burst out into a confetti of plastic casing. It was a simple exercise in having the common sense to duck. As he said, it was really nothing new based on that tedious HEV training he underwent.

The room beyond was a cavern without an evidence purpose besides a serious of large ventilations ducts that either hung limply or played dead on the linoleum.

A shrill screech echoed off the walls.

So, that's what the tubes were for it seems.

He had know that organic matter transfer from Xen was possible. He had quietly hoped the samples would have yielded it less chaotically than the fallout result of a resonance cascade. That was of course before he observed the Xen lifeform inhabiting this place now, something that looked like a cross between an elderly horseshoe crab and an undercooked rotisserie chicken hopping viciously towards him.

Quickly, he ducked behind a crossed pair of tubes. The one good adversary he had and it had to be an overgrown mollusk. 

Focus, Freeman.

There were options. In fact, there was a set of sliding mechanical door with a potentially human sized hole. Plus, perhaps his mentions of luck earlier weren't a completely meritless move. A crowbar lay sprawled out as if it was meant to be hand-delivered to him in front of a firmly latched glass door. He was not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, especially when its tiding fit so perfectly in his hands.

Crowbar heavy in his hands his confidence was peaking. He shimmied through the thin gap left by someone who likely lacked the sense or weapon training that he had. It was almost enough to make him smile. Almost.

On the other end, he was met with a much narrower corridor. How riveting. How useful.

Without much other thought than a justified need for progress, he used his new gift to splinter a stubbornly shut door at the corridor end to pieces. 

Crawling ever so delicately through his geniusly devised entrance, he was greeted with yet another dull corridor. Seriously, would it really have killed them to hire an interior decorator who's sense of a fun accent wasn't yet another petty form of security theatre such as the zigzag of red lights lining this hall.

Undaunted by the light show, Doctor Freeman confidently strutted down the mostly empty corridor. 

He quickly hissed and stumbled back three steps. All those layers of armor, and he still felt the blistering heat of a laser eating at his hip. He supposed it was an efficient way to prevent it from leaving Black Mesa premises with an unskilled user.

Begrudgingly, he consented to the humiliating ritual of scuttling under the lasers like a horrid little roach.

Another guard rested like a rag doll on the floor near the last obstruction, a laser that had no cabinet or nook to settle its aim into.

The guard could have been alive, probably not. Again, his doctorate was in theoretical physics. He had plausible deniability when it came to using humans as lightening rods against military-grade security equipment.

With a small nudge with his outstretched palms, the guard's body was perfectly positioned to take the brunt of the laser's blow as beautifully illustrated by the hot burst of blood that erupted from the guard's abdomen.

Well, on the bright side, that definitely cleared up any misconceptions about their mortality status.

Doctor Freeman stood once more and shook off some of the fresh coating of blood still loose on the HEV suit.

Just beyond the rather unfortunate stench of burning flesh, there was another door, although this one was a bit different. It's seam was in the middle, and it had some sort of control panel to its side.

It was an elevator!

It was progress!!

He slammed the button to call the elevator with a balled fist, impatience growing every second he was having to spend away from replanning somewhere outside of the blare of emergency alarms and the screech of insects and the incessant wavering of overhead lights.

The elevator doors remained closed as if blissfully unaware of the urgency of the physicist in front of them.

Doctor Freeman jabbed the button again with his forefinger.

He was rewarded with a mechanical grunt from somewhere higher in the shaft. 

Of all the times for people to congest the company elevators with stops at every floor.....

He tapped the button three more times in rapid succession, brows furrowed to look for any sign of recognition from the elevator's mechanism.

There was another grunt of effort from the mechanism again followed by a sickening snap of metal being severed.

A crescendo of screams that tapered off as the elevator's cart blinked out into the bowels of the research facility passed by Doctor Freeman as meaninglessly as scenery rolling past a car window.

They had gotten in his way, and now, they were gone. It was just a shame they had wasted that perfectly good elevator cart.

Seeing as in its stubbornness, the elevator door was still firmly shut, he decided that another bit of company properly

Saddling the thin threshold, he spotted a maintenance ladder. At least somebody has the sense to not completely rely on electricity. Plus, without the cart, the risk of an untimely demise being smeared across the internal chamber was rather low. It seemed the best way to rush through this miserable escape mission so he was free to rush through the next thing in his life.

One ladder rung down. Approximately sixty three left to go.

Twenty one ladder rungs down. Forty two left to go.

Each little ping of his gloved hands latching on to the next rung was a little tick on this checklist of his life he kept himself up at night checking, optimizing, trying to do better....

As he reached the top of the elevator shaft, despite the protest of his arm which were already sore from heaving the bulk of metal up a poorly constructed maintenance ladder, he saw a figure and was prompted right into action.

Now, he had always considered himself a decisive man. He knew exactly what he wanted, and once he set his mind to something, he was going to have it by any means necessary. It was just that he had never had considered himself a very rash man. He always thought he was too rational and methodical in his approached to let something like this happen. He supposed there were worse ways to be proven wrong than this.

There was something with a hold on a weapon based on the sounds above. It was something holding what he wanted and posing a threat. The solution was simple.

He lunged forward out of the dark abyss of the elevator shaft and swung with calculated and merciless aim at the figure's side. The two teeth of the crowbar dug into a soft spot in the figure's side just below the ribs, tearing a firm dent into flesh before exiting.

The weapon, a small pistol from what Doctor Freeman could tell under the subpar fluorescents, clattered to the ground.

The figure, which now appeared to be another one of those blend-in Black Mesa Guards, quickly followed suit. 

"Freeman, what the fuck?!" 

So, the guard was still in good enough condition to speak and recognize people, or at least him with his askew glasses and matted red mullet. 

So, the guard was still in good enough condition to be a hindrance.

Doctor Freeman shifted the bloodied crowbar in his hand, taking the curve of the back to use as an instrument of blunt force. With little though, the bright orange crowbar was slammed into the guard's chest. 

"What's wrong with you?" the guard still managed to weakly wheeze out.

So, Black Mesa did at least vet their security hires. And here he thought he would be dealing with cannon fodder. What a pleasant surprise that was absolutely meaningless to him now.

He raised the crowbar over his head and slammed it down again.

The guard did not speak but had the gall to spit a spray of bloodied saliva at him. 

Had he really hit hard enough to puncture a lung? He would have to add that to the resume if this turncoat scientist thing turned out to be a waste of his talent. 

It would be a bit funny to just leave them to choke on their own blood. Ironic maybe. At the very least, it would prove a point about what happened to annoyances like this bright-eyed dope with an itchy trigger finger.

But the guard's fingers were still twitching. It was as if they were mocking him. It was like high school all over again, all the stupid taunts about his intelligence and sickly appearance and all the basic algebra worksheets shoved at him. How many times would he have to prove himself like this? Why did he ever have to prove himself?

His swings were short and without his previous precision. The thought of temporary incapacitation was far behind him. He wanted to turn whatever was presented in front of him into a fine paste. There was no satisfaction in the brittle snapping of bones or the pathetic whimpers of the idiot underfoot. There was only satisfaction when the teeth of his crowbar glistened with blood from a myriad of superficial wounds or leaking directly from the mouth of someone foolish enough to stand between him and the never ending list of objection sprawling out ahead of him.

The guard's eyes were closed now. Their dumb, resilient body was still and would continue to be still until the facility's infrastructure finally rotted and crumbled further into the dirt. 

The guard was dead.

By god, what had he just done?

This was not death by association. This was homicide. Sure, homicide of somebody who had the societal potential of a potato battery, but it was so much more direct....so much more blatant in its intent...in his intent to crush everything that stood in his path and exercise control as he deemed fit over what was left.....This is what he wanted? 

This is what he wanted.

He was panting, breathing heavily, while the splatter of blood on his gloves turned into nothing more than a faint stain.

Something had fundamentally changed about Doctor Freeman, but unlike the Resonance Cascade, it would not be easily reversed or contained.

**Author's Note:**

> And they say violeny video games rot your brain, but look, how I turned out...or this work. I hoped you enjoyed your messed up Freeman evil movements.


End file.
